The Inheritance
by Alcyone
Summary: War breaks out and sides are blurred. Sometimes there's more than right or wrong, black or white. Sometimes you have do the unthinkable to achieve the impossible. DracoGinny
1. Prologue

Prologue

Ginny Weasley stared out the window into the bright spring morning. It was a fairytale spring this year, no fickle frosts, no grey drizzly days. Trees and flowers bloomed like they'd never bloomed before. Mellow sunshine and the sounds of birdsong drifted in through the window.

Ginny turned away from the window with a sigh, and bent to check on the old man dying in a makeshift bed on a spring morning full of life. His breathing was hollow, but steady, his skin papery, but still warm. Ginny couldn't understand how he'd lasted this long. He was 142 and had been at death's door for weeks now. Some horrible part of her wished he would just hurry up and die, die so she could move on with her life, join the war effort. As much as her parents told her that caring for her great great uncle Thestius was helping as much as anyone, she knew they lied. They locked her up in an attic room with a dying relative and a guilty conscience for company, keeping their youngest child and only daughter safe.

She sat down and reread the morning's paper for the third time. There had been an attack on The Leaky Cauldron yesterday. She wished more than anything she could help! She couldn't fight, she wasn't an auror, she wasn't even that good at Defense, but she _was_ trained as an apothecary and could at least help ready the wounded for transport to St. Mungo's! She banged her fist against the wall in frustration, waking her uncle, who mumbled and tried to sit up.

"Oh! I'm sorry, go back to sleep!" she tried to coax her uncle, filled with guilt. She wouldn't be much help to the Order if she couldn't even keep her temper!

"No, no," Uncle Thestius mumbled as he propped himself up on a shaky elbow. "What's in the paper? Anything new on the war?"

"The Leaky Cauldron was attacked," she told him flatly.

"Ah, and you want to be out there!" he cackled knowingly. "You'd leave an old man like me to die to go fight a war!" He shook a finger at her.

Ginny was immediately contrite, and began to try to soothe him.

"No, no, none of that, now," he waved her away. "Don't blame you, don't blame you in the least. If I were a bit younger I'd be out there next to you! As it is I can do my part yet."

Ginny looked at him questioningly, but didn't dare contradict him.

"You think…you think I'm too old, you think I can't help!" he cried in a wheezy voice. "I fought against in the last war, you know, and against Grindelwald…" Ginny did know, he'd told her at least dozen times before. "The purebloods…it's the purebloods who have to lead the way…the Muggle-bloods…they help, they try, but they don't…they don't understand…"

Ginny begged to differ. She felt that as they were the ones targeted, they probably understood better than anyone what the war was about. She had tried to point that out to him once, but he didn't seem to follow her very well.

"It's all in my will," he continued, tired now. He struggled to stay awake. "In my will, you'll see…you wait…" He drifted off to sleep.

Ginny watched him sleep, wondering again what could be in his will. He'd been talking about it since he'd met her, he seemed to think he held the key to winning the war, and that it was all in his will. Ginny was beginning to wonder if he was a bit senile. He was rich, she knew, filthy rich. He had probably left all his money to some cause or other. Hopefully he'd left a bit for her. She wasn't hoping for a fortune, but a bit to buy some new robes or something would be really nice. Since her father had lost his job at the Ministry, they were barely able to keep food on the table.

A week later Uncle Thestius was dying in earnest. He had slipped into a coma and had only woken up once or twice. Ginny slipped into the room as twilight fell, holding a single candle and hating the gloom, but feeling that it might be disrespectful, somehow, to have the room fully lit. She set the candle on the nightstand and sat down in the chair next to his bed to begin her vigil. Somehow she knew he would die tonight. She could almost see Death at the end of his bed, waiting patiently to claim his next victim.

Hours later, Uncle Thestius blinked open his eyes blearily and tried to sit up. "My will…" he began upon seeing Ginny, his voice almost too faint to hear. Ginny leaned closer, her ear close to his lips to hear what he said. "You must…do what it says…you must…promise me…" his voice was weak and shaky, his face grey.

"I will," Ginny stammered, patting the blue-veined hand on the sheet feebly, feeling woefully inadequate.

"You must…swear to me…"

Ginny looked at him, startled. It occurred to her that she had no idea what she might be swearing to do. "I – I'll do my best," she managed to get out.

A strangely intense light burned in his eyes, like a candle's last bright flicker before it burns out. "_Swear it._ Swear it in Merlin's name."

Ginny considered for a moment, strangely afraid. Who was she to refuse a dying man's last request? He couldn't want anything too dire. Maybe if she swore, it would give him some peace.

"In Merlin's name, I swear, I will do as the will says."

The old man fell back against the pillow, relieved. When Ginny woke in the morning, stiff necked after sleeping in the chair, he was gone.

Draco Malfoy swore loudly as the morning sun crept across his face, waking him. He groaned and rolled over, trying to hide his eyes from the persistent light and swearing to get even with the house-elf who had neglected to close his curtains before he awoke.

"Good morning, Draco," a voice too close to him chirruped.

_Pansy_. He kept his eyes shut and deepened his breathing. Maybe if she thought he was asleep she would go home. Why the _hell_ had he let her stay the night?

"Sweetie?" A tentative touch on his shoulder.

It was no use. The whore was going to stay until sent her away. He forced his eyes opened and stared coldly at the woman sharing his bed. Hard faced and angular, she had never been pretty, and clearly first thing in the morning was _not_ her best time of day. He must have been drunker than he thought last night.

Pansy's smile faltered under his hard stare. "I thought we might have some breakfast in bed…" she said timidly, her voice dying.

"No."

Pansy sighed. "Well, what are we going to do today then?" she whined.

Draco stared at her in disbelief. She thought they were going to _do_ things together? What, did she think they were a couple now? The only thing he'd wanted to do with her he'd done last night, and now he wanted her gone.

"_We're_ not doing anything. You're going home, and I have work to do."

Pansy looked startled, and for a moment Draco thought she might lash out at him. But, as Draco had come to expect, she smoothed her face into what she must have hoped looked like a cheery smile. Draco sneered at her in disgust, just to watch the smile falter and then be restored. He knew she was desperate to marry him, and would and had put up with all sorts of mistreatment for fear of losing him. She didn't seem to realize that she had never had him in the first place. He wondered if she'd be quite so eager to please him if she knew just how broke the Malfoys were. Not just broke, but deeply in debt.

"Well…I know you're busy, sweetie…" she managed at last, sitting up in bed with the covers clutched to her chest. She waited expectantly for him to look away and give her some privacy. He didn't. She tugged a bit at the sheet, but it was firmly tucked under the bed. Draco watched her in amusement. The bathroom was on the other side of the bed, there was no way she could make a dash for it, she had to go all the way around the bed. Pansy pulled at the sheet in earnest, then tried the blankets. They wouldn't budge. Maybe Draco wouldn't punish the house-elf after all. Finally she decided to just forget the covers. She walked naked to the bathroom, head high, trying desperately to hold on to the last fragments of her dignity, like the Emperor who just found out that his new clothes weren't clothes at all. Draco decided it was because of bodies like hers that people wore clothes.

Finally Pansy left, carefully ignoring him, the closest she dared go to actually defying him. When she had gone, Draco got up and took a leisurely shower and dressed, bored already. Bored with this day, bored with his life. He was living in a nowhere land, too young to be a Deatheater, not trusted enough to be an Auror.

A house-elf brought in his breakfast when Draco snapped his fingers, and with it, the mail. It hastily Disapparated as soon as the tray hit the small table. Draco could hardly blame it. The Malfoys had never set much stock by the phrase 'Don't kill the messenger.'

Draco sifted through the mail as he sipped his coffee. A bill from Quality Quidditch Supplies, one he would _not_ be showing to his father, a second notice bill from Madam Malkin's, a few circulars, a brief letter from Daphne Greengrass, another girl who hadn't quite given up hope of him, and an official looking letter of some sort. He tore the last open. It was a notice of the death of some ancient relative, and a request that he be present at the reading of the will. Draco put down the coffee to read it better. Who _was_ this guy anyhow? He wondered if it was worth going to the reading, then decided it couldn't hurt. Maybe the old man left him a few galleons. Why else would they have requested he come? He looked at the date of the reading. _This morning._ He quickly swallowed the rest of the coffee, scalding his throat, and threw on some better clothes. He'd have to hurry to make the reading.

Draco found the address five minutes after the appointed time. Fashionably late. He sauntered in and surveyed the room. A couple of older men, lawyers presumably, and a redheaded girl who looked vaguely familiar, in a dusty, closet-like room, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with leather bound tomes. A large desk that had seen better days and three mismatched chairs completed the picture. The girl sat in the far chair, trying not to look at him. He wondered again where he knew her from. She must have been at Hogwarts, possibly a year or two below him. Perhaps he should ask her out for a consoling cup of coffee afterwards. Draco sat down, trying to look as if he knew exactly why he was there, and that the whole thing bored him.

One of the men cleared his throat softly. "Ah, yes, Mr. Malfoy, wonderful, so glad you could come. Peabody is my name, this is Jakobson." Draco acknowledged him with a slight nod, growing more and more curious.

"Yes, well, perhaps we best begin…the will, if you please?" Mr. Peabody reached out his hand, and Jakobson handed it to him. Peabody cleared his throat again and began to read.

'_I, Thestius Eustice Black, being of sound mind, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all wills and codicils by me at any time heretofore made._'

Ginny glanced over at Draco, growing more and more uneasy. She had sworn to Thestius on his deathbed to honor his last requests, and she was now regretting it. Anything that had to do with Draco Malfoy couldn't be good. She snuck a glance at him as his attention turned to a paperweight on the desk. Could he know what was in the will? He must. How else could he look so calm. Ginny listened with growing impatience as the lawyer read through pages of small bequests, 100 galleons to a servant here, a favorite pipe to an old friend there, and so on. Nothing to do with her. Yet.

_'…To Draco Alexander Black Malfoy and to Ginevra Molly Weasley, I do hereby bequeath all the rest, residue and remainder of my said estate, real, personal and mixed, of every kind and nature and wheresoever situate, on the condition that they wed within six (6) months of the date of my death, to be divided equally. If, in the case that they should not wed within the appropriated time, or that one should die, the said estate shall be bequeathed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Should the marriage be dissolved at any time for any reason other than death, the entire remainder of said estate shall be bequeathed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.'_

Ginny sat up straight in her chair, staring at the staid lawyer with her mouth open. She wanted to speak, wanted to confirm that this was all a horrible joke, that the real will would be pulled out any minute now, but she was having trouble making her voice cooperate. Finally, after an eternity of silence, she managed to croak, "What…what exactly does that mean?"

Mr. Peabody looked sympathetic. "It means if you marry Mr. Malfoy within six months, all of Mr. Black's estate is yours. If not, well, it all goes to St. Mungo's. There's a letter explaining it fully. It's here somewhere." He began to open and shut drawers in the desk, not seeming to realize the earth shattering significance of the will. Marry Draco Malfoy? Draco Malfoy who never looked at her but to torment her? Draco Malfoy of _the_ Malfoys, some of the vilest Deatheaters to walk the Earth?

Through the rush that filled her brain, she heard Draco ask just how much the old man's estate was worth. She listened closely, breath caught in her throat, praying it would be pittance. The amount she heard staggered her.

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, don't sue me. Flattered you had to ask though.

A/N: Like it? Please review, it's much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Draco stared at the lawyer in unflattering disbelief. The Malfoy's fortune, even at it's greatest, was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the old man's. And all he had to do was marry the Weasley girl. He looked over at her speculatively. Would she or wouldn't she? He remembered the Weasley family's hand-me-down clothes and books from Hogwarts days and decided she would. Nobody in their right mind could _want_ to be that poor.

He had a sudden vision of coming home to his father, announcing that he had remade the family's fortune. Finally, he would be accepted; his father would be proud of him for the first time in his life. He was sure his father's objections to his marrying a Weasley would vanish like smoke in the wind when he found out how much it had gained him. He began to tally up the money in his mind. Maybe he could convince the girl -- Ginevra?—to let him be the financial manager of their money. It only made sense after all. _Her_ family had never had enough money to need managing. He could give her a monthly sum, and convince her he had the rest wisely invested. He would take a fair part to his father, and set aside more for his own personal use. Maybe he could buy his own manor. The thought pleased him. A manor bigger than his father's even. Being married wouldn't be half bad, either. He'd have a wife to keep away gold digging sluts like Pansy, but enough freedom to do as he liked if someone else came along. Altogether, he was well pleased. For the first time in his life, things were looking up.

Draco stood up, ready to head down to the magistrate's office and get married immediately. He looked over at Ginevra, and was surprised to see that she looked far from happy. She was deathly white and was looking at him with something like…disgust. He couldn't be quite sure though, as most girls he knew pasted looks of admiration on their faces when he was around. It must just be the shock that made her look like that.

"Thank you for your time," he said pleasantly to the lawyer, who was looking rather at loose ends. Draco couldn't understand what the confusion as about. "Shall we go then?" he asked Ginevra, holding out his hand to help her up from her chair.

Ginevra looked startled. "Go where?" she asked cautiously. She ignored his hand and got up, going around to the other side of her chair so that it was between them. Draco wondered if she was possibly a bit simple. No matter. He wouldn't be spending much time with her. He spoke in slow, gentle tones, as to a very small child. "To get married, of course."

For at least the third time in the space of an hour, Ginny as struck dumb. He actually thought she would _marry_ him? He had to be delusional. All the attention he had ever paid her was to tease her when Ron was around just to get a rise out of her brother, and now he thought they were going to be married, just like that! Suddenly Ginny was livid.

"You are the absolute _last_ man on Earth I would ever consider marrying, I don't care how much money we'd get!" She turned to flounce out of the room, when a hand caught her arm in an iron grip and pulled her around none to gently to face him.

"Perhaps we could discuss this outside," he said through a tight, forced smile, with a glance at the lawyers, who were looking on with great interest. Then, without so much as a by your leave, he drug her out the door. Ginny fought to pull her arm away, but it was no use. "Let me go!" she hissed at him, growing angrier and angrier. She tried to reach for her wand with her other hand, but he was too quick for her and snatched it out of her pocket before she could get it. Pulling her behind him, he dragged her to a dim dead end and pinned her shoulder to the wall with the hand not holding her arm. "Look," he said in carefully calm voice. "I know you don't want to marry me, but it wouldn't be like it meant anything. We'd split the money fifty-fifty and go our separate ways, we wouldn't even have to tell anyone. You're practically destitute, I could use the money, it benefits us both. Be reasonable." Draco's eyes lingered pointedly on the frayed sleeves and patched shoulder of her best robes.

__

It wouldn't be like it meant anything. The words echoed in her mind, chilling her to her soul. She thought of her parent's marriage, and of Bill's to Fleur. They all adored their spouses, they were best friends and soul mates, anyone could see that. It had always been her dream to have a marriage like that as well, and now, Draco Malfoy of all people, was proposing a marriage that 'wouldn't mean anything'. The money was tempting, but marriage to him was unthinkable.

"I am not going to marry you. Let me go." Her voice was icy, and Draco's smile faltered. Ginny watched as his eyes filled with rage, and she wondered fearfully if he was going to hit her. But he smothered his rage and forced something like a smile, though it was much closer to a grimace.

"I can tell you're overtired, this has been a shock to you. I'll just let you have some time to think it over, I'll find you in say…a week or so? We'll talk about it then." He probably meant to be kind and sympathetic, but she could hear the barely covered fury behind his patronizing words, and her own temper rose. She'd had enough.

"Let me GO!" she cried, bringing her knee up so that it hit him in the groin. He doubled over in pain, and she snatched her wand back from him and ran away without looking back.

By the time Draco could get up, Ginny was long gone. He winced as he rose, walking carefully out of the building. That hadn't gone at all as he wanted it to, an unwelcome surprise for someone who got everything he wanted. He took deep breaths, trying to calm his anger. He wasn't a child, he couldn't throw a tantrum; anger would get him nowhere. He had to calm down and think logically.

As he walked, he realized he didn't know where he wanted to go. He had no desire to go home and face his mother, who was expecting him for tea, nor did he think Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade would be safe. It wasn't so much that he thought there would be an attack, but more that being a Malfoy made him an immediate object of enmity. He pushed this thought out of his mind, and opted for a nearby park. It was a Muggle park, and therefore beneath him, but at this point he didn't care. He sat down on a park bench and began to think. She obviously was a woman of very little sense, so appealing to her reason wasn't going to work, and it was beneath his dignity to beg. But he had to have the money! He might be able to force her, put her under the Imperius Curse. No, he was walking the grey side of the law already, and he couldn't keep her under it forever. He hadn't any desire to end up in Azkaban. He could sweet talk her, court her until she agreed to marry him. He grimaced. Charming stupid little girls wasn't his favorite thing to do, but if that's what it took, he'd do it. He could be charming, if absolutely necessary. He thought for awhile longer, but no better ideas came to him.

Sighing, he got up and ventured to the nearest magical florist. Two dozen roses, charmed for long life and wonderful color and scent, would be a fair start. They would set him back quite a bit, but it didn't matter, he'd have it all back in spades soon. He probably ought to include a little note of apology as well. He tried to think of something that sounded sincere without being too gushy. It wasn't easy. Sincerity had never been his strong point, nor had it been considered a virtue worth cultivating when he was growing up.

The next day, Ginny came in from job hunting to find two dozen red roses waiting for her in the kitchen of the Burrow and her mother eager to find out who they were from. Ginny glanced at the small card, thankfully in an envelope, to discover they were from Draco. Who the hell did he think he was kidding with all this apology garbage?! She was livid, but managed to keep her anger under wraps as she told her mother they were from someone who had missed the funeral.

Mrs. Weasley looked skeptical. "Red roses?" she asked. "For a funeral?"

Ginny shrugged and swiftly moved them into an out of the way corner, slipping the card into her pocket to read more carefully later. She'd decided there was no need to tell her parents about the fateful contents of the will.

"I got a job today!" she said brightly, hoping to distract her mother from the mysterious roses. She grabbed a handful of silverware and began to set the table.

"That's wonderful!" Mrs. Weasley gave Ginny a quick hug. "Where?"

Ginny sighed a bit and prepared for a fight. This wasn't the way she wanted to tell her mother, but Draco hadn't given her much choice. She mentally cursed him, and finally told her mother, "The Apothecary. In Diagon Alley."

"Diagon Alley?" Mrs. Weasley shrieked. "It's _dangerous_ there! Anything could happen to you! There was an attack there not three weeks ago!"

"It's dangerous everywhere, mother," Ginny said with forced calm. "I can't stay locked up here forever. And besides, with an attack three weeks ago, they're not likely to attack there again soon."

This had been the wrong thing to say. Mrs. Weasley's face turned red and Ginny knew from years' experience she was to get a long, angry lecture.

Ginny was spared the lecture as her dad and brother Bill walked in the door, both looking exhausted.

"Do you know," Mrs. Weasley cried upon seeing her husband, "that your daughter plans to work in Diagon Alley?"

Mr. Weasley didn't see this in quite the same light. Taking off his cloak, he said mildly, "Well she has to work somewhere. Diagon Alley is as good a place as any." Seeing Mrs. Weasley's furious look, he added, "She'll be perfectly safe there. It's heavily warded now."

Mrs. Weasley gave a resigned sigh, though she looked only slightly consoled. "Well you'll be home at night at least."

"Actually…no," Ginny said quietly. "A flat above the shop comes with the job. I'll be living there."

Mrs. Weasley's face turned even redder, Mr. Weasley put his hand on her shoulder, and she didn't say anything. Ginny got the impression that this was something that had been argued over time and again in private.

"When do you start, Gin?" Bill asked, sitting down at the table with a handful of crisps.

Ginny smiled gratefully at her eldest brother and handed him a glass of water. "I can start moving in tomorrow, and I start work day after tomorrow."

"So soon?" Mr. Weasley asked, a bit surprised. Mrs. Weasley remained determinedly silent.

"A lot of people left after Diagon Alley after the attack," Bill said between bites. "They'll take anyone they can get."

"Thanks, Bill," Ginny said sarcastically.

Bill just grinned.

"I'm going to go start packing," Ginny informed them. She could tell her mother was near the breaking point, and she wanted out of the stifling kitchen while the getting was good. She grabbed the roses on her way out; she wasn't sure what she'd do with them, but taking them out of the kitchen would mean one less uncomfortable question to answer.

Ginny sighed in relief as she climbed the stairs to her room. One battle won. She could work in Diagon Alley. She glanced down at the roses she held carelessly in her hand. One yet to fight, apparently. Suddenly she felt exhausted.

Draco swore vilely at the remains of the flowers he'd sent the ungrateful whore. She was insane-- certifiably, clinically insane. What woman in her right mind would send back two dozen very expensive roses, blackened and withered, with a scathing note of refusal. He threw the roses into the fire, where they burst into flame immediately. Any other woman would have been thrilled to get flowers from him. Pansy would have fallen down and kissed his feet in gratitude. She had her faults, but at least she had the proper attitude. Maybe he would take her out to dinner tonight, let her soothe his wounded pride.

Draco stared moodily into the fire, thinking. Gifts weren't going to win her. Maybe he should go talk to her again. Be charming. He wondered if she still lived in that pisshole of a house with her family. If she did, he wouldn't be able to get near her. Those horrible brothers of hers would just as soon kill him as look at him. They'd make it look like an accident, too. Draco's mood grew fouler as the afternoon wore on and his potential wealth slipped further out of his grasp.

Night came and brought no improvement in his mood. Finally he floo'd Pansy and informed her they were going out to dinner. Pansy's homely face lit up, and she agreed enthusiastically, as he had expected she would. _There_ was proper respect and gratitude. Not like that little Muggle-loving tramp who wouldn't know quality and class if it hit her in her freckled face. Why couldn't it have been Pansy he had to marry for the money. Pansy would have married him in an instant. Any girl would have. He had it all-- money, looks, pure blood. So why did it have to be the one girl in all of England who wanted nothing to do with him? The Fates clearly hated him.

Draco stared at a stain on the wall behind Pansy as she droned on and on about some new fashion, or a scandal, or something like that. He'd lost all interest in her and everything she was saying about five minutes into dinner, and was wondering how soon he could escape. He'd forgotten how indescribably boring she was. She might be properly grateful, but she hadn't had an original thought in her head from the day she was born.

"Have you been down to Diagon Alley lately, Draco?" He ignored her, and she continued without pause. "It's practically _dead_. A lot of the shopkeepers have left, and even Madam Malkin's is gone. Now I have to go all the way to Hogsmeade for my robes, and Gladrags isn't anything like as good as Madam Malkin's." She pouted a bit and checked to see if she had any of Draco's attention. Seeing that she hadn't, she continued on a different thread. "I did see one person down in Diagon Alley the other day though. It was that Gryffindor girl a year below us, I can't remember her name, you know, the one with all the awful brothers and all that nasty red hair?" Pansy had Draco's full attention now. She wasn't sure if it was good or bad, as the redhead was quite pretty, but at least it was attention. "Well she said she got a job there. I can't believe anyone would be so stupid. She's going to live there too. She's going to help revitalize Diagon Alley. Think's she's being noble," Pansy sneered.

Pansy now had Draco's full attention. If she were in Diagon Alley, that meant he could actually go talk to her, make her see reason. "Where Pansy? Where is she working?" he demanded.

Pansy looked rather alarmed. She might not be the brightest girl, but she could spot competition a mile away. "I don't remember," she said primly.

Draco stood up and leaned over her, making himself as intimidating as possible. "Where, Pansy?" he asked with great deliberateness.

Pansy was now truly afraid. "I think…I think she said the Apothecary…" she squeaked.

Draco gave a cry of triumph and strode out of the restaurant, leaving a shocked Pansy staring after him. He'd caught scent of his prey.

Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own any of this, I'm not making any money off of it.

A/N:

First off, thanks to all those who have reviewed. It's tremendously encouraging. Thanks in particular to Yazethet, for her thoughtful review. J

Also: I'm going to try very hard to keep this updated regularly. I have the plot mostly worked out in my head, it's just a matter of finding time to write. That said, if you'd like to be notified of updates, put your email in the review and I'll drop you a line.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ginny surveyed her new flat with great satisfaction. It had taken her all day to finish moving all the odds and ends in, but it was finally finished, and she loved it. It was small—very small, dim, and still had the peculiar, almost rancid odor of the years of potions made up here before it was converted to a flat, but it was hers. It had a small bedroom in which she had to be careful not to hit her head, an even smaller bathroom with uncertain plumbing, and a tiny kitchenette/living area crammed into a corner by the stairs. Clearly it was included with the job only because no one in their right mind would pay money to live there, but Ginny didn't care. For the first time in her life she had a space which was entirely her own. No more waiting in line for the bathroom, no more being prodded to clean up her room, put her things away, help cook dinner—she could do exactly as she liked.

Her work was going well, too. The head apothecary, a kind, older man by the name of Mr. Miscere, was thrilled with her, and didn't just give her mindless tasks, but taught her as they worked. Things were definitely looking up, further proof that while Malfoy may need money to be happy, she, Ginny Weasley, could make her own way without anyone's charity.

She thought briefly of her uncle, who had thought it was such a good idea. He'd stated in the letter he'd enclosed with his will his conviction that if purebloods from both sides could just understand each other, there wouldn't be any more war, and that this understanding could be promoted through arranged marriages, a bit like ambassadors to the other side of the war. Unfortunately, not many had shared this belief, but it was in his power to make a start by encouraging his two young descendants to set an example. Ginny thought it rather telling that he didn't think they would marry on anything less than almost his entire estate, which was substantial. She thought guiltily of her deathbed promise to him, then shoved the thought aside. No one in their right mind could expect her to keep it.

The bell rang downstairs, pulling Ginny from her musings. With the flat above the shop came the duty of taking care of anyone who called after hours. Gingerly climbing down the steep stairs, she hoped she could turn away whoever it was until tomorrow. It was only early evening, possibly they just thought the shop stayed open later than it really did. The bell rang again. Or not. "Coming!" she called, picking her way through barrels and crates filled with potion ingredients.

Ginny opened the door to find the last person she had expected standing there. Draco Malfoy. He was wearing robes worth more money than she would make in a month and a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Whatever you want, Malfoy, it had better be really important, because I don't feel like dealing with you right now," Ginny snapped, unaccountably flustered by his presence.

"Oh, it's very important," he assured her smoothly. "I want to take you to dinner. We got off to rather a bad start the other day, I'm afraid I was a bit of a beast, and I want to make it up to you."

Ginny raised an eyebrow and surveyed him incredulously, wondering how anyone could be so remarkably dense. Or maybe he was just extraordinarily greedy, though she wasn't sure quite why, since he'd always seemed to have more money than he could spend. His motivations were irrelevant, however, since he was still standing on the front step, contaminating her air. "Tempting, but no," she told him icily.

"Yes, I thought you might be too tired for dinner after working all day, so I took the liberty of ordering in." He glanced at his watch. "It should be here momentarily."

Ginny was stricken dumb. If he thought he was coming in, he was insane. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he interrupted her.

"No, no, I can't stay – ah, there's the delivery boy now—I'll just leave you to your dinner. Enjoy!" With that, he Disapparated, clearly pleased at having come off with the upper hand for once.

Ginny didn't have time to react, as the delivery boy arrived a second later with an armful of steaming hot food.

"Miss Weasley?" He glanced at a slip of paper. "Should be all here," he said, handing her the bags. Ginny reached into her pocket for a few knuts to tip him. The boy grinned. "Don't worry about it, miss. Mr. Malfoy took care of it."

Ginny nodded, and the boy left with a cheery 'night, miss'. Ginny picked up the bags of food and brought them upstairs. Whatever Malfoy had chosen, it smelled delicious. Against her will, her stomach growled. Ginny didn't know what was more appalling—that Malfoy could be thoughtful, or that she was actually considering eating food he had given her. Ginny set the bags on the table and peeked in them. Provided by Malfoy or not, it looked a lot better than the sandwich she had been planning on having, and she sat down and ate.

Ginny watched with a sigh as a magnificent hawk owl which she recognized as Draco's landed on the counter with yet another package. Every few days since the food three weeks ago, he had sent some sort of gift, usually a book or a trinket or expensive candy along with a short note. Things she couldn't kill and send back. Not that she hadn't tried to send them back, but he would just return them the next day until she gave up and kept everything. Ginny tore open the package with uncalled for force as the owl flew away. Another book-- an old one on healing potions she'd been searching for unsuccessfully. She wondered how he had known, and when the inevitable confrontation would come. He wouldn't keep away forever, she knew. He probably thought he was softening her up.

The next day, just after the shop closed, Draco rapped sharply on the door to get Ginny's attention. Ginny sighed and motioned for him to come in, as she hadn't locked the door yet. He strode over to where she was working, looking expectant. Perhaps he expected to her to thank him for all the gifts, Ginny thought. She continued working, carefully measuring two ounces of beetle eyes into each box and ignoring him with equal care. Maybe he would take the hint and just leave. After a moment's silence, Draco said coldly, "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Ginny surveyed the mess in front of her. She was starting to fill Potions kits for the coming school year, and the floor and counter were littered with half full boxes, assorted jars and bins of ingredients, and a variety of scales and measures. "You are disturbing me, as it happens, but no matter, we might as well get it over with." She stood up and wiped her dusty hands on her apron.

Ginny took a deep breath, and gave the speech she'd been preparing for the past couple of weeks, ever since she'd realized he was serious. "I'm not going to marry you, Malfoy. I'm not toying with you, playing hard to get, or anything like that. I'm just telling you. I'm not going to marry you and you're wasting your time and money on me."

Draco looked livid, his pale face turning mottled red and purple. "I'm just trying to keep you from making the biggest mistake of your life, you silly little girl," he hissed. "You wouldn't know what's good for you if it hit you in the face!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, _please_, Malfoy, you've never thought of anyone but yourself in your entire life," she cried angrily. "Why are you really so desperate for the money? You have enough of it without adding Uncle Thestius's!" She looked pointedly at his obviously expensive robes. "You _could_ try telling the truth, you know!" she finished caustically.

Draco's face had gone rather pale, though maybe that was just the uncertain light in the shop. He seemed to be thinking, hard. "All right, you want the truth?" he asked nastily. "Here it is, the whole, sordid truth."

Ginny held her breath, startled and immensely curious. She hadn't expected her ill thought words to have any effect other than angering him further.

"We're broke," he said roughly. "We're more than broke, we're deeply in debt. We owe every merchant in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and any other wizarding shop of any importance. The only reason they keep giving us credit is that my father threatens to curse their families if they don't. We have less money even than your family, and that's saying something." The words spilled from him angrily like pus from a wound, but seemed to give him some sort of relief.

Ginny stared at him. Of all the excuses she might have expected, this was the last. The Malfoys were broke? Ginny looked again at his clothes, his boots, even his haircut. Everything screamed wealth. She thought of the Slytherin Quidditch team, provided with new, top of the line brooms when Draco started playing. She remembered the galas the Malfoys were famous for, always written up in the society pages as the social event of the year. How could they be broke? And Dad said Lucius Malfoy was greasing the palms of every other person in the Ministry to get his way. But there was no doubting Draco told the truth. She could see it in every corner of his face as he watched her warily, waiting for her reaction.

"I don't understand," she stammered stupidly. "How could you be broke? You're rich."

"Are you stupid, Weasley? I just told you, we _were_ rich. We're not now." Seeing her still puzzled expression, he rolled his eyes and continued. "If people knew we were broke, my dear father wouldn't have any more power. You think his tremendous influence is from personal charm? It's money, and without it, he's just another git who used to be important, once upon a time."

For the first time, Ginny thought she understood. In a world where money is power, being broke simply isn't an option. It occurred to her then how very different they were. In her family, money was just for buying food and clothes and things like that. There was never quite enough of it, but that hadn't really mattered. Ginny felt a sudden surge of pity for Draco, and all the caustic comments she had ready died on her lips.

"I'm still not going to marry you Draco, especially if it means giving people like your father money," she said softly.

"He wouldn't touch it," Draco spoke confidently. "I wouldn't even let him know I had it. I would use to get out of here, start a new life. You think I like having a Deatheater for a father? Look, I'll even split the money 60/40 if you want."

Ginny wished she could believe him, but she had seen the confident, arrogant look slip back over his face like a glittering mask at a masquerade. He was back to his usual self, saying anything he thought would get him his own way. She found she couldn't hate him, much as she tried. He was too weak to hate, really, when it came down to it. For all his arrogant ways, he was really little more than a lonely young boy trying desperately to buy his father's approval. All she felt was pity, a strange sort of pity tinged with frustration.

"For the last time, Draco, no." Ginny shook her head and turned away, concentrating on the jars of mooncalf dung stacked behind her without seeing them. A moment later she heard the front door slam, and she sank down to the floor in relief, wondering why she felt so drained.

The presents from Draco stopped. She was relieved, hoping it meant he had given up, but missed them a bit all the same. She had never been one of the really pretty girls at school, and had never been widely sought, nor showered with gifts. She'd dated quite a few guys at Hogwarts after she had given up on Harry, enough guys to raise a few eyebrows even, but they had only been a sort of proof, to herself and to everyone else, that she was over Harry.

It took her awhile to recognize that she was dating them and breaking up with them at the rate she was because none of them had been able to measure up to Harry. Only recently had she realized she hadn't really comparing them to Harry, she'd been comparing them to the hero she had built in her head and graced with Harry's image. It was only then that she knew she'd had a crush on a fantasy all those years, and her crush on Harry ended abruptly.

Ginny sighed and continued mixing up an anti-acne potion. Mr. Miscere said they sold lots of them when school started and kids wanted to stock up. He didn't quite understand why they didn't go to Madam Pomfrey and save money, but Ginny knew no one wanted to have to explain being treated for acne to clear skinned friends. Like many others, she'd kept a jar of anti-acne potion under her bed herself. The front bell rang, and Ginny charmed her stirring spoon to stir by itself and went out to see who it was.

Pansy Parkinson stood inside the door dramatically, looking for all the world like she was striking a pose and expected to be photographed any minute. Ginny smirked a bit and, wiping her hands on her apron, went to see what she wanted.

"Can I help you, Miss Parkinson?" she asked politely, using the formal title Pansy seemed to prefer. She refrained from asking if she had come for a beauty potion.

Pansy wrinkled her nose a little like Ginny gave off some sort of bad stench, and Ginny itched to slap the smug, superior look off of her pug face.

Pansy gave her a tight, forced smile. "I'd like to talk to you," she said at last. "Privately." She glanced around the shop as if she expected to see hoards of people hanging on to her every word.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You can come into the back room if you want," she said, wondering what on earth Pansy could have to say to her. Privately even.

Pansy followed her behind the curtain separating the two rooms. The main shop was kept respectably clean and orderly, but the back room was untidy and a little cobwebby, and the bubotuber pus in the anti-acne potion gave off an acrid scent.

Pansy clearly liked the back room even less than she had the main shop, but didn't comment, for which Ginny grudgingly gave her credit. She had never liked Pansy.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here," she began.

"I don't actually, but have a seat, I have a feeling this is going to be long." Ginny sat down herself and motioned to the only other chair in the room, an old one with a wobbly leg, which was why it had been relegated to the back room in the first place. Pansy dusted it off with a lace edged handkerchief, and sat down. The chair rocked ominously, but didn't collapse.

"You see, dear, it's about Draco," she gave Ginny what she probably thought was a sisterly smile, though it looked more like a grimace. Ginny could barely keep from laughing. Pansy was jealous of her!

"I heard he was sending you…well, gifts, of a sort. Trinkets, really. I came to warn you about him…friend to friend." Another would-be warm smile. Ginny stifled a grin.

"Well, you see, you're not really his type. Draco is destined to marry someone, well, someone of his own class. Someone…well, not someone like you. Not…not, well, a working girl."

Ginny was truly angry now. Ginny had more class in her little finger than Pansy could ever hope to have in her entire life. Her blood was just as pure, her education just as good. Her family was also now considerably wealthier than the Malfoys, though Pansy didn't know it. "Someone like you?" she shot back angrily.

Pansy blushed, a carefully cultivated blush, not one of true embarrassment. "Well, yes," she tittered, ducking her head in artificial shyness.

Ginny stared at her. Slytherins were ambitious she knew, but she had never considered what Pansy's particular ambitions might be. Now it came to her. Pansy's true ambition in life was Draco. It was pathetic. Well and truly pathetic. And now Pansy thought Ginny was going to steal Draco away. Ginny considered for a moment telling her that she and Draco had been dating secretly for years, that she had been a mere cover up, but nixed that idea. That might bring Draco back. She thought about relating Draco's confession, telling her that her prize was mere gilding, not true gold. But that was too incredibly personal. It was Draco's secret, his to keep and his to tell. And besides, Pansy would never believe her. Ginny opted to tell her the truth, or as close as she could safely get to it.

"Friend to friend, it's true," she said, forcing sympathy into her voice. "Draco _has_ been sending little gifts. I've asked him to stop, but he insists on sending me things. You know the sort of thing—flowers, chocolates, jewelry. I tell him he really must stop, but he does insist so on having his own way," she said innocently. "Maybe you could ask him for me, seeing that you're such good friends with him. Perhaps he'd listen to you."

Ginny took a malicious satisfaction in Pansy's stricken face, feeling she had repaid her for the 'working girl' remark.

Pansy rose from her chair, pale. "I'll get you for this, Weasley," she sputtered, leaving with as much dignity as she could muster.

Ginny smirked, half in anger, half in amusement, and turned back to her potion, which had stirred itself into a gloppy brown mess. Setting the cauldron aside to clean later and reaching for a clean one, it occurred to her. Pansy must have been the one to tell Draco where she was. Her mind wandered back to the day she got the job. She had been so thrilled she told anyone who would listen, including Pansy Parkinson, whom she had met on the street. She was willing to bet Pansy rued that day as much as she did.

A/N:

RyokoJesseandFiend: I think I read that fic ages ago, and can tell you that the 'relative forcing marriage' idea is pretty much where the similarity ends. I recall that that fic was very good, and thank you for the comparison.

Yazethet: Another long review, thanks. Yes, the promise will come into play, she's just not feeling it yet, as the six months aren't. Glad you think my characterizations are good, I've tried to keep everyone in character.

About Ginny's new name: Anyone who's read the un-updated chapters or the past reviews will see that I previously had Ginny's full name as Imogen, a lovely name that I liked very much. However JK's brand new site, www.jkrowling.com, tells us that Ginny's full name is Ginevra, another lovely name, in my opinion. So if you don't like Ginevra, still insist it's Virginia, whatever, don't take it up with me, it's now canon. She will still be Ginny most of the time, since that's what's she's usually called in canon.

A million thanks go to everyone else who has reviewed, I appreciate it

Disclaimer: As usual, I own none of this.


	4. Chapter 3

Draco threw himself into a chair in front of the fireplace in his room, staring at the empty grate, kept spotlessly clean during the summer months. He wished there was a fire going, just so he could throw something in and have the satisfaction of watching it burn. More than anything he wished he could take back his words to Ginny Weasley. In an attempt to play on the soft side he now wasn't so sure she had, he had given her a weapon, the truth, and now she had a hold over him as surely as if she were standing here holding a knife to his throat. It had been three days since his confession to her, and the fact that he hadn't heard so much of a whisper of it from anyone else only proved that she was a cunning little witch and was waiting until she could use the information to her best advantage.

Draco realized, of course, that the Malfoys could and would deny it, and that in all likelihood, no one would believe young Ginevra Weasley, but there were always the what ifs. What if the shopkeepers they owed came forward with tales of the Malfoys' debts. What if someone remembered that Narcissa Malfoy had been seen in dress robes she'd worn a few years ago. What if local charities noted that the Malfoys' generous contributions were becoming slowly but steadily less generous. All it would take was one small crack for the whole weak structure of lies to fall apart around them. Draco simply had to have the money from the will, whether she would marry him or not.

Draco sifted through the ideas in his head, looking for one that might work. He was a Malfoy and a Slytherin, and nothing would stop him from getting what he wanted. He tried to think back to what his father had said about getting people to do what he wanted. You could coax the weak willed, but Ginny Weasley was anything but weak. You could bribe them, but he he'd offered her more than half the fortune and she hadn't accepted, and he'd be damned if he was letting her have more. Or you could force them. His father, he knew, was a great fan of the Imperius curse, but while that was appealing, he didn't think he'd be able to keep it on the Weasley brat for more than a few minutes, if it worked at all. That ruled out forcing her...or did it?

An idea began to form in his mind, insubstantial as smoke. Carefully he probed it and examined it, and the pieces began to fall into place until it was solid and real and, he hoped, workable. But he'd need help. He'd need someone who would do whatever he said, someone as greedy and ambitious as he was. He needed Pansy.

Ginny sighed as she gave the floor a last sweep and set the broom aside. It was well into the evening and she'd been working all day. She'd already missed dinner at her parents' house because of the all the back to school shopping. Everyone needed potions ingredients, and more than a few anxious parents of soon-to-be first years had wanted reassurance that there was nothing dangerous in the potions kits. A sudden commotion in the alley behind the shop caught her attention and, sighing again, she went out ready to hex whichever mangy stray cat had gotten in to the garbage this time.

Poking her head out the door, she peered into the dim evening light, trying to see what was going on. The trashbins were lying on the ground, garbage strewn around them, but there was no sign of a cat enjoying the spoils. It must have been scared off by the noise, she decided, deliberately ignoring the rubbish she would have to pick up in the morning. She was taking a last look around when she heard a small cry that sounded suspiciously human.

She stepped out the door, lighting her wand. The apothecary backed out almost directly onto Knockturn Alley, and the complex locking charms on the back door lent credence to the street's reputation as a place to be avoided. "Is anyone there?" she called out hesitantly into the night.

She was about to return to the shop, when she heard the noise again, coming from somewhere behind the overturned cans. Gingerly avoiding the rubbish, she shone the wandlight behind the bins, illuminating a very small and very ragged boy clutching his arm. Startled, Ginny took a step back. "Are- are you all right?" she asked hesitantly. The boy held out his arm for inspection. Pity overcame here fear, and she knelt to inspect it. It wasn't broken, thankfully, but it was badly bruised. "What happened?" she asked. Looking at him more closely, she could see he wasn't much older than seven or eight. She wondered where his parents were, and what they were thinking to let him out in Knockturn Alley this late at night.

"I fell," the boy said sullenly, avoiding her eyes. Ginny didn't believe him, but nevertheless, his arm did need tending. "Stay here, I'll get something for your arm." She rose and went into the apothecary, where she found the bruise salve she was looking for. She returned to the boy, a bit surprised that he was still there, and smeared the oily green potion on his arm.

"There," she said when she was finished, putting the cork back into the jar. "That ought to help. Come back tomorrow if you can, you'll need more of it then." He nodded slightly. "What's your name?" Ginny ventured.

The boy stared at her a minute, dark eyes wide. "Antony," he muttered, and fled.

The next night, just as Ginny had given up hope of him, Antony was back. His arm was much better, and with another application of the bruise potion, it would be fine. But before Antony left, he grabbed her arm in a surprising tight grip. "Will you come see my sister?" he whispered timidly. "She's coughing." Some part of Ginny knew not to get involved. She knew she should apologize and send him away. But there was vulnerability left in Antony's eyes, a childish hope with hadn't quite yet been extinguished by a hard life in Knockturn Alley, and she couldn't tell him no. She nodded and went back in to get everything she might need for a coughing child.

Antony took her hand tightly and led her through the street. She was glad of a guide, feeling that all her mother's paranoid warnings about Knockturn Alley might not have been so paranoid after all. There was a malignant feeling hanging in the air like a foul odor. Hostile eyes watched her from dark corners, but didn't follow. Antony seemed oblivious, however, and she wasn't sure if she should be reassured by this or appalled. He led her through the twisty streets to a rundown shack wrapped in darkness. A feeble candle shone through a single broken window, giving little light and even less warmth.

Ginny followed Antony in. Looking around, she knew that she could never consider her family poor again. This wasn't just poverty, this was squalor. A girl only a little bit older than Ginny sat on a broken, filthy bed in the corner, coughing hoarsely and trying to calm a screaming baby.

"Look, Toby, I brought home a healer for you!" Antony announced proudly, gesturing towards Ginny. The girl called Toby looked up, alarmed.

Ginny hastened to reassure her while every atom of her body screamed for her to leave, forget this place and these forsaken people. "You're brother said you had a bit of a cough," she said kindly, forcing a smile. Toby coughed again into a dirty rag, which Ginny could see was bloody.

"I can't pay for no healer," Toby's voice was hoarse. She coughed again, a dry, racking cough, and the baby screamed even louder, convulsing with sobs.

"I don't need money," Ginny assured her over the baby's cries. "I – I'm just training...I need the practice," she lied. Toby seemed slightly mollified.

Ginny gently took the baby from her and handed it to Antony while she listened to Toby's lungs and asked a few questions. The cough didn't seem too bad, it had just been left untreated. She dug in her bag for rumex leaves, and told her how to make tea out of them. "Will you come back?" Toby asked.

Ginny hesitated, considering. She wasn't sure she wanted to make any sort of commitment to Toby or to anyone else living in Knockturn Alley. She wasn't a healer, she wasn't even a proper apothecary yet. Knockturn Alley harbored hoards of dark wizards and witches, along with Deatheaters. But Toby and Antony weren't Deatheaters, nor did they seem particularly evil or dark. They were just people, people abandoned by the rest of the magical world simply because of where they were born.

"I'll be back on Monday."

Monday came and went, and Ginny lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, her body exhausted, but her mind too active to sleep. She ran over the day's events in her mind. Monday was her day off, and had started normally enough, with a morning visit to her mum, where she heard all about the dangers she, her father, and her brothers were in. Mum had taken down the clock that used to tell where they were and what they were doing, she noticed. She remembered a time when the clock had brought reassurance and not fear. A time when her mother's biggest concern was what the twins were up to, not whether her family would survive the day. She wondered if that time would ever come again. The afternoon she spent cleaning her rooms and finishing a book, pleasantly mundane and ordinary.

But the evening brought Antony back, and with it the remembrance of her promise to return. She had gathered her bag, throwing in anything she thought she might need. Arriving at the shack, she'd found that Toby's cough had improved dramatically, and that her reputation had spread. Leaving a minor sedative for Toby's fussy baby, she was led to a man with a festering, oddly colored leg wound, an ancient woman complaining 'aching bones' and a small girl with a persistent upset stomach. In each case she had soothed and consoled, passing out what cures and comfort she could, making a mental note to stock next week's bag better, start earlier in the day, and look up what could cause bright yellow bubbling wounds. _Next week!_ she had thought to herself. She couldn't come back, she just couldn't. There were a million reasons why she shouldn't – it was dangerous, these people were criminals, anything could happen to her, her parents would kill her if they found out. But looking into the eyes of the tiny girl clutching her stomach, she knew she'd be back. Next week and the week after that, and as many weeks as she was needed. They couldn't go to St. Mungo's, she had realized as she bandaged the weeping leg of the man with the dark, suspicious eyes. As soon as one of them set foot in the door, they'd be off to Azkaban, their children dumped in the orphanage, their old ones left to fade away. They needed her as no one else did, and she would not let them down.

Draco sat in a dark corner of the Hog's Head, nursing a firewhiskey. The pub wasn't normally a place a Malfoy would be seen anywhere near. Everything was coated in years worth of filth, the alcohol was served warm and watered down, and only the worst scum of humanity frequented it, but it was one of the few places where he didn't have a tab the length of his arm. Not that the bartenders of the more acceptable pubs dared do anything more than scowl when they thought he wasn't looking, but still. He sipped the firewhiskey again, and wrinkled his nose slightly. There was definitely something wrong with it. It could just be second rate firewhiskey. Or it could be the brown grime that lined the glass that gave it its distinct flavor. Whatever it was, it was foul, and he pushed the glass away, taking out his own private hip flask. It was 300 year old wine pilfered from his father's wine cellar, too valuable to be chugged from a flask, but Draco didn't care. He was a Malfoy, expense shouldn't matter. But it did. He took another swig defiantly, choking a bit on the acrid wine.

He slipped the flask back into his cloak and stared at the table, as if the dark wood held the answers he sought. His plan was in place, everything was ready. He'd slowly siphoned off enough Polyjuice potion from his father's supply until he had a couple days worth. The sedative was ready as well, and he'd found the out of the way windowless room he'd need. He'd carefully set aside a long red hair he'd found clinging to one of the returned presents. All he needed now was Pansy. And he dreaded telling her.

Still though, he thought, scraping little paths into the muck on the table with his fingernail, he didn't really need to tell her for awhile yet. Not if he had everything ready. They didn't have to be married for another five months now. He could tell her in a few months time. Anything could happen in a few months. Anything at all. He might even have found someone less repulsive than Pansy to help him out. And surely he could keep his head above water for that long. After all, they'd been putting off creditors for years now. A couple more months would be nothing at all.

A/N: Thanks, of course, go to everyone who's reviewed. Sorry this chapter has taken so long, real life hit with a vengeance. Hope you've enjoyed it.


	5. Chapter 4

One more house to go and Ginny would be done for the day. A cold wind whipped under her cloak, making her shiver and quicken her pace. She knew there would be a warm fire waiting for her at her last visit, an old lady wanting tea and sympathy as much as the powered dragon scales for her arthritis.

In the rickety cottage, Ginny's mind wandered as she sipped the bitter, lukewarm tea and tried to listen to Madam Proust's babble about people from an era long before Ginny's time. _"…my cousin Annelise, she was from Yorkshire. Or was it Kent? No, no I think it was Yorkshire. I'm almost positive. Well, no matter. She had strange bumps on her toes, too… Yes, I think she _was_ from Kent after all."_

Against her will, her mind drifted away from the cousin with bumpy toes, and strayed, as it so often did these days, into thoughts she would rather ignore. Like the thought of what her family would say if they knew she was aiding the 'enemy' – families of deatheaters and various other ne'er-do-wells sympathetic to them. But who was the enemy really? Could she blame these leaderless people for following anyone who promised them a better life, even if that promise was a lie and those who made the promise clearly evil? And what about the very old and the very young. They felt the poverty worse than anyone. Who could blame her for wanting to help them? 

But another voice crept into her mind, a nasty one that brought to mind the suspicious wounds she bound for hard faced men who wouldn't meet her eyes. Wounds her brothers or her friends might have made…

In the end, she settled for the uneasy belief that she was only being merciful, and mercy chose no side. Mercy had a price though, she sighed to herself, thinking of her rapidly mounting debt to the Apothecary.

At last the bitter tea was gone. She studied the patterns made by the dregs, glad she didn't know what they signified. Nothing good, she was sure, by Ron's account of divination. She stood up, and cleared the tea things as the old woman chattered on. At last, giving her patient a gentle hug and a final farewell, her day was finished.

Draco paused for a minute in the moonlight streaming through the window, studying the carefully kept silver washed grounds. It had been so long since he'd simply stopped and looked at anything, and he couldn't believe he was pausing now, of all times. He shook his head at his foolishness and moved on. It was the one night his father was guaranteed to be away, and he had to take advantage of it. His father's schedule had been so unpredictable lately. Father's sudden trip to France was just what he needed if he didn't want to explain why exactly he was 'borrowing' expensive polyjuice potion. After more than a few aborted attempts, he'd thought about bringing his father in on his plan. He would be full of helpful suggestions. Too helpful, Draco thought ironically. Somehow it was important that he do this on his own. That he not come running to Daddy when things began to go wrong, as he'd done so many times in the past. A small smile crept onto his face. For once, he'd be bailing his father out. For once, his father would be proud of him. And all he had to do was marry Pansy. It was a small price to pay. 

Ginny collapsed into bed wearily. It had been a long day. She felt like she was about eighty, instead of eighteen. There had been weeks of battles, leaving scores of wounded for her to care for. She supposed it was a good thing really, they must be winning if there were so many injured and even killed deatheaters, she just wished it would stop. It was a huge tax on her energy and her resources, not to mention her conscience, though that seemed to have dulled considerably since the beginning of the war. She was so deeply in debt to the shop she felt like she was stealing. She supposed she was, in a way. She couldn't begin to pay back what she owed. Unless of course…

She pushed the thought from her mind. She would _not_ marry Draco. But the thought wouldn't go away, it circled around in her mind like a vulture, as it had for weeks. Reminding her of her promise. She'd sworn. A magical oath. She wondered what would happen if she didn't keep her promise. Whatever strange force that was reminding her of her promise didn't seem to care that the promise involved a git like Draco Malfoy.

Though really, she argued with herself, _would_ it be that bad? Draco disliked her as much as she disliked him, they wouldn't have to have anything to do with each other. They wouldn't even have to tell anyone. The will hadn't said anything like that. Just the lawyers, and they could be kept quiet with a small 'gift', she was sure. She did need the money, and so did he.

She would marry him, she decided, smothering the pangs from her conscience as she had so many times before. So much had changed with the war. None of the beliefs she had been brought up with seemed to apply anymore. And happily-ever-after's were fairytales from an earlier, peaceful time.

Before she could change her mind, she scribbled a quick note on a scrap of parchment and ran downstairs to the shop's owl.

"Take this to Draco Malfoy," she ordered it bruptly.

As she watched the owl soar off into the night, she wondered what she had done.

Draco batted angrily at the small, insistent owl that had flown in his open window, still three quarters asleep. The creature was scratching and hooting angrily, trying to get his attention. _Who in the hell sends an owl at this time of night?_ he thought to himself, sitting up in bed and giving the owl another swat. Seeing that he was up, the owl dropped a slip of parchment next to him and took off, giving him a last scratch on the arm for good measure.

Draco fumbled for his wand, and, lighting it up with a word, read the note.

_Meet me tomorrow in the shop at seven am._

_-G.W._

Draco stared at it in disbelief. She couldn't possibly have changed her mind. Could she have? One thing was for certain though…he had to find out. She was better by far than fat, stupid Pansy. Pansy who though she'd agreed to marry him disguised as Ginny Weasley, as he had known she would, had startled him by insisting on a 'real' marriage in front of their families. They would make the announcement tomorrow. Or at least, that had been the plan. Draco grinned in relief as he realized he could call it all off now. Of course, he'd have to 'reorder' some on Pansy's memories, but that wasn't a problem. Leaping out of bed with more energy than he'd had in months, he sent a house elf to the Parkinsons' to wake Pansy and bring her over her to comfort his pre announcement 'jitters.' He dressed quickly in his favorite robes and awaited her arrival.

Draco arrived at the shop at 6:55, but he'd be damned if he were going to look overeager. He'd make her wait a bit. Just enough to make her wonder if he was coming. Pansy had earlier been sent on her way with only the vaguest idea that there had ever been anything between them, let alone a proposal. He thought he might have erased a few other memories as well, judging by the way she couldn't seem to remember where exactly home was, but he didn't think it was anything that would be terribly noticeable. She'd never been all that bright.

He divided his glances between his watch, which was moving with unwonted slowness, and the early morning bustle in the street. Shopkeepers uncovering windows, opening doors, sweeping entryways – it was a side of Diagon Alley he'd never seen, and it rather fascinated him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten up before noon.

At 7:06 it occurred to him suddenly that she could still change her mind and send him packing. It was late enough, he decided, banging the Apothecary door open.

She didn't deign to look up as he entered, but continued sweeping up oddly colored dust. She didn't seem to be making very good progress, Draco noted smugly, as he watched her spread previously collected dust back into the corners. He stood and waited for her to notice him. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of making him open his mouth first.

A moment later it was obvious she had the same idea, as she continued her ineffective rounds with the broom, still steadily ignoring him. Draco grew angrier and angrier, but didn't quite dare leave—he needed her cooperation too badly.

Five minutes later he concluded that she was the stubbornest woman in all of England. She still hadn't said a word. Fine. He would behave like a mature human being even if she wasn't going to. He cleared his throat to give her one last chance. She paused in her sweeping a moment, but gave no other sign she'd heard. "I got your note," he said at last, cursing himself silently for letting her win.

"Good," she said, looking up for the first time. He was startled to see how white she was, like she'd been sick for a very long time.

She began sweeping again. "You know why I asked you here?" she asked a moment later in a tone of quiet resignation.

Somehow Draco couldn't bring himself to mock her or even smirk. "I know," he said simply.

"I have Monday off," she said after a long pause. "The courthouse opens at nine o'clock."

"Nine o'clock then. I'll meet you there."

She nodded, and Draco inexplicably wished he could think of something more to say, but no words came. She went back to ignoring him, whiter than before, if that was even possible. A moment later he turned and left the shop.

If he'd gotten what he wanted…why wasn't he happy?

Ginny stared at her reflection in the ancient mirror. Was it the light making her skin so pale and her eyes so dark? She looked like a clown she decided contemptuously, tugging at her bright red hair. A stupid clown. A stupid clown who would marry for money, even. Something she'd never thought she'd do. But she was doing lots of things she'd never imagined, and few of them were good. She glanced down at the robes she'd chosen, wishing she had a full length mirror. It was silly to be so concerned about clothes. It's not like it mattered. It was a sham of a marriage anyhow. But somehow it did.

Her ordinary robes were too shabby and too dark, but she didn't have any others, and couldn't afford new ones. Or at least, not yet, she thought to herself, thinking of the enormous sum of money which would be hers in a matter of hours. Finally she'd dug out her dress robes from the Yule Ball her last year of school. Pale lavender, they'd been second hand when she'd bought them, and scarcely seemed appropriate, but they would have to do. At least she hadn't grown much since then. She'd torn off all the frilly decorations to make them seem less formal, leaving her with something like a plain lavender dress.

She arrived at the courthouse shortly after nine, and was glad to see him in the entrance hall, staring out a window with his back to her. Somehow she didn't think she could have born it if she had to wait. She stood in the doorway for a moment watching him, her future husband. He turned around and stared at her a second, and she stepped in to the room, glad to see he was semi-dressed up as well.

"Nice _robes_, Weasley," he hissed, smirking. Her temper flared, he hadn't any right to insult her, but she let it pass. It wasn't like she'd ever have to see him again.

"Are you ready?" she asked coldly, forcing herself to stand up straight, pretending she was wearing the finest robes money could buy – a trick which had seen her through many embarrassments about her clothes.

"Whenever you are, my dear," he replied with equal chill, offering her his arm. She ignored the proffered arm and stepped ahead of him to the registry office.

Ginny was glad to see the same two lawyers waiting, she'd forgotten to contact them, Draco must have. She gave them a small smile.

The Magistrate began the ceremony in the bored tones of one who had done this too many times – seen too many scared or excited couples exchanging vows. Ginny's mind wandered back to the elaborate wedding she'd had planned since she was about 7 - the high ceilinged cathedral, the flowers, the music, even her dress. This was about the exact opposite she mused as the magistrate droned on about 'love' and 'honor'.

"I do," Draco's deep voice intoned from her side, startling her into reality.

"Do you Ginevra Molly Weasley take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The magistrate looked at her expectantly.

For a second her stomach turned to ice and the world turned upside-down. _This is wrong!_ her mind's voice screamed. There was gentle pressure on her hand. Draco… The money… It all came flooding back. She had to do this. There was no other way. She'd sworn.

"I do."

A/N: Thanks for anyone who's stuck with this fic over the months it's been since it was updated. I hope you like this chapter, and please review.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, don't sue.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five 

Draco fairly skipped on his way home from the courthouse. Nothing in the world could bother him just now. The money would be transferred to his vault later this day, and he was filthy stinking rich again. He wandered through Diagon Alley, ready to spend some of his newly acquired cash. Nothing was out of his reach anymore. He passed by the Markson's Fine Jewelry and looked in the window where some gold earrings were displayed. Markson's was a little hole-in-the-wall shop in a slightly seedy part of Diagon Alley, but Draco knew they had a famed 'back room' where Markson kept his really expensive and often slightly illegal jewels.

He would buy something for his mother, he decided. He knew she hadn't had new jewelry in years, his father simply hadn't been able to afford it. Draco smiled. He would get her something ludicrously expensive. Still smiling, he strode into the shop.

Mr. Markson, a small, balding, entirely unremarkable man, looked up from a bracelet he was repairing and smiled – a nailed on, please-don't-curse-my-family sort of smile. "Young Mr. Malfoy…how good to see you again," he said, sounding as if seeing young Mr. Malfoy again was anything but good.

Draco gave him a scorching glare. "I'm looking for something for my mother," he said coldly. "A necklace, perhaps."

"We have some lovely things here." Markson gestured to a case of jewelry hopefully.

"Not that rubbish," Draco said sneeringly. "Proper jewels."

"Ahh, of course, of course, how silly of me," Markson smiled, and bent down and pulled out a tray from underneath the counter. "Here we go. I keep these in reserve for my…_select_ customers. You know what I mean."

Draco knew exactly what he meant. The jewelry on the tray was only marginally better than that in the cases. His 'select' customers were the ones whom Markson knew would be buying on credit and never paying, but whom he couldn't afford to offend – like his father. The man had surely been a Slytherin. Draco decided he would never get into the back room this way. "I will, of course, be paying cash."

Markson's smile suddenly became much more genuine, and he surreptitiously rubbed his hands together. He silently took the tray off the counter and put it away. "In that case, Mr. Malfoy, will you follow me please."

The back room, at first appearance, was nothing more than a cobwebby unused store room. Markson tapped gently on the wall with his wand in a sequence Draco couldn't quite follow, and the walls melted away to reveal the real 'Back Room'.

The jewelry here made the other in the front room look like children's dress-up beads. Jewels of every size, shape, and color were all exquisitely set in the finest gold or silver. There were no price tags, and Draco felt a smug surge of satisfaction that it didn't matter.

Draco browsed a bit, marveling at the selection. Many pieces featured jewels he'd never seen before. He settled on a necklace, as planned. Glowing emeralds and diamonds of various sizes winked at him from a platinum setting that seemed to have a living glow of its own. Draco couldn't think whether it reminded him of a vine, or a snake, or just an abstract design. Just when he had decided, it seemed to take on another form entirely. It was perfect.

"This one," he told Markson, who had been watching him closely.

"Ah, you have excellent taste, sir, a personal favorite of mine, that one is." Markson picked it up lovingly and closed the case. "Shall I have it sent to you, or will you be carrying it?"

"Carrying it," Draco told him absently, still fascinated by the rest of the jewelry. A bracelet on the other side of the room caught his eye, and he went over to look. Markson stood silently and watched. The bracelet was in an entirely different style from the necklace. Amethysts and pale emeralds set in white gold, it was subtle and understated, whereas the necklace was ever so slightly ostentatious and clearly expensive. It wasn't til you looked at the bracelet closely that you saw that it was something decidedly out of the ordinary. For some reason it reminded him of Ginny Weasley. Ginny Malfoy, now.

"This one, too," he said, before he could change his mind.

A week or so later, the Malfoy family was sitting down to dinner together, their first in awhile since Lucius Malfoy was frequently away on 'business'. The three Malfoys sat in spacious dining room, with Lucius and Narcissa on either end of a very long table, and Draco in the middle. There was enough food on the table for twenty or thirty people at least, all of the dishes fantastically elaborate, but Lucius Malfoy expected nothing less. Nobody said much, conversation perhaps hindered by the great distance between the diners, but then, perhaps there just wasn't much to say. Either way, it was a typical family dinner for Draco, and he noticed neither the quantity of food nor the silence. He still hadn't told them about the inheritance, and was wondering if this was the time.

Narcissa began the topic for him. "I noticed there were workmen repairing the roof on the east wing," she said pleasantly.

"Workmen?" Lucius Malfoy was startled. "I didn't hire workmen for anything." He rose from his chair, alarmed.

"No, I ordered them, Father," Draco interjected, trying hard not to look too smug.

"What do you mean 'I ordered them', you insolent brat!" Lucius demanded. "What the hell do you think you're doing, ordering repairs? I hope you intend to pay for them, too," Lucius sneered, thinking he had won his point.

Draco delicately wiped his mouth and reached for a nearby dish of foi gras. "I do, as it happens."

"And where, might one ask, do you intend to get the money? Perhaps you found it growing on a tree?" his father was coldly sarcastic.

"Do you remember old Thestius Black?"

"He died recently, didn't he?" Narcissa interrupted.

Draco nodded. "And left quite a bit of money. To me."

"Black died months ago," Lucius said curtly. "You're telling me not only did you inherit his entire fortune, but you've had it all these months, too?" he asked suspiciously.

"There were legal complications that had to be…_taken care of_," Draco explained, hoping his parents caught his implications of remarkably clever and mostly illegal manipulations. For some reason he shuddered at the idea of telling them about Ginny – his wife. He didn't think his parents would object to the marriage, money covered a multitude of sins, but all the same… "But yes, Black's fortune is mine now."

"How much?" Greed shone in Lucius' eyes.

"Enough." Draco was firm. No need to let him know the exact amount.

Lucius hesitated, trying to decide if he wanted to push the issue. He decided not to. He nodded at his son respectfully. "Well done, I must say."

To anyone else it wouldn't have seemed like much of an acknowledgement, but to Draco it was all the world.

There was something about the day that kept nagging at the back of Ginny's mind, some reason why it was important, but she couldn't think what. It was an ordinary Wednesday, some quick work in the shop in the morning, out on her rounds in the afternoon. Her mum would have let her know by now if she'd missed anything important, like a birthday, she decided, and ignoring the nagging feeling that persisted in spite of her best efforts, she continued carefully chopping the dried knotgrass for later sale.

"Going out this afternoon, again?" Mr. Miscere, the shop's owner, inquired, looking worried.

"Mmm, yes, I think so." Ginny reached for more of the grass. "If that's ok, that is."

"Oh…oh yes of course. Just…be careful will you?"

Ginny agreed, and smiled sadly to herself. Mr. Miscere always seemed rather puzzled by the war, as if he still couldn't quite bring himself to believe it had started again, in spite of that fact that 90 of their work was for St. Mungo's now. He knew Ginny was out doing war work, more than that he didn't want to know. He never asked what she did, and he certainly never asked what side she was on, for which Ginny was glad. She wasn't quite sure herself.

Healing those injured by the Order was most of her work now, but she couldn't bring herself to stop. These weren't the truly evil Deatheaters she treated. They had proper healers of their own. The really clever ones from Knockturn Alley had long been promoted, and the stupid ones were dead. The ones left now were mostly the young. Young men and women only a little bit younger than Ginny herself, led to believe their cause was just and glorious. They were sent in ahead of the real Deatheaters, to shake things up a bit and take the worst of the first hit. They were expendable. What had her father said? Ah yes. Cannon fodder. Though she had only a vague idea of what a cannon was, it still seemed an apt description.

Ginny clenched her teeth as the young man screamed out in pain again. It couldn't be _that_ bad. She'd given him all the pain spells she knew and he was still making that half sobbing half screaming sound that grated so on her nerves. But then, she'd never seen this type of injury before – all the bones in his legs had crumbled into tiny sharp shards. It was entirely possible the pain spells were having no effect. And here she thought the Deatheaters were the only ones using dark magic… She prodded his left leg a bit, trying to decide what to do for him, and he cried out again. His mother joined in with a loud, hopeless moan, and Ginny herself felt she wanted to scream. She felt so incredibly, hopelessly inadequate. How the hell did she get herself into this mess? It was on days like this that she began to wish she'd done as her mother said and stayed home like a good little girl.

Ginny finally gave the boy some sedative and he quickly drifted off into an uneasy forced sleep.

"He's dead!" his mother screamed from the corner where she was watching the proceedings in horror. "My baby boy, my only child, and he's _dead_!" She broke down into choking sobs.

Ginny patted her awkwardly on the back. "He's not dead, see, he's breathing. He's just asleep. I put him to sleep, that's all."

After his mother had collected herself sufficiently, Ginny made some flimsy excuse to his mother and stepped outside into the sun to gather her thoughts. The sun beat down on her face, and she began to feel more in control. _Six months _it came to her suddenly. She'd been married all of six months, and she hadn't seen or heard from her husband since the day they were married. The money she got from the deal made her work possible. She wasn't sorry, she decided. She wasn't.

She ducked back into the cottage, as much to avoid her thoughts as to help the boy. Ginny studied his face as he slept. Fifteen, she decided. Possibly even sixteen, but certainly no older. An indescribable sadness filled her. He ought to be at Hogwarts, worrying about the next Quidditch match or something like that.

Ginny shook her head and focused only on healing him. She'd long since learned to keep her heart out of these matters, to concentrate only on the problem, not on the people. Otherwise she'd go insane with sorrow. She couldn't understand how she'd slipped out of that mode, today of all days.

Gritting her teeth, she cast the spell which would remove, she hoped, all of the shards of bone from his leg. Ordinary breaks were no problem, but this…she didn't quite dare try. It worked, although the sight of her son's boneless legs upset his mother even more, and she collapsed into a corner to cry some more. Ignoring her, Ginny gave the boy the Skelegrow that would regenerate his bones. Painful, but there was nothing else she could do.

Straightening up, she looked around for a reasonably competent person to give instructions to, and finally settled on his little sister, a sturdy looking girl of about ten who had been watching Ginny and her brother silently from a shadowed corner. Leaving the child with more sedative, instructions, and a promise to come back later, Ginny made her way to the next cottage.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. Hopefully I'll be able to update regularly, but don't expect new chapters at this rate. Next chapter they'll start to deal with the consequences of what they've done. 

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, don't sue.


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